


Supernatural (Something Wicked)

by Cherry_Pye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Rewrite, M/M, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Slow Build, Wincest - Freeform, actual plot mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Pye/pseuds/Cherry_Pye
Summary: This is a previously posted story that I’m remastering. A short but accurate summary: the actual transcribed plot of Supernatural but with the added touch of a sexual relationship, or the build to a sexual relationship, between the brothers.





	1. Woman in White (pt. 1 of 2)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m changing this section of the notes to: you really DO need to know the early episodes at least somewhat for the sake of keeping up with the hunting parts of the plot, anyway. 
> 
> Other notes: obviously my list of characters is incomplete, but since I’m not yet sure exactly which parts of which episodes I’m going to be writing, I figured I’d keep it just at Sam, Dean, Jess, and John for now. I’m not including an underage warning, but know that flashbacks to younger years and to at least past Wincesty thoughts/light interactions between the brothers will be a part of this.
> 
> Edit: the tags are SO far from complete as well and will be updated. Yes this will turn explicit as is the way with 99% of everything I write. I just don’t know exactly how all that will unfold yet since my stories write themselves and I have little to do with the process.

side note: I recently learned that this gem was actually in one of the original scripts (thank you, Kripke): after Sam decides he’s leaving for the weekend with Dean, he heads outside and Dean lingers behind with Jess, saying “light hair, green eyes, prettiest in town...Sammy sure has a type,” before strolling out the door to meet his brother at the car.

••••••••••

  
Sam's eyes snapped open in alarm at the small crash from the other room, and he slowly pulled himself out of bed, not wanting to wake Jess.

She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and the noise had probably been nothing…but eighteen years of previous training told him that he'd better check it out just in case.

Creeping down the hallway, he peered through the beaded curtain that led into the kitchen and silently bridled to see the silhouette of a man slink by in the shadows, making his way toward the fridge.

Mentally chastising himself for not having had the foresight to grab something that could have been used as a weapon, Sam crept on light feet into the room and made the snap decision to lunge at the intruder, hoping to catch him off guard. 

Weapon or no weapon, he knew his way around hand-to-hand combat, and the element of surprise was everything.

But this guy must have been on the receiving end of his fair share of ambushes, because he spun around to face Sam in an expertly-offensive stance about a half second before their bodies collided in the dark.

Sam growled, giving the stranger a hard punch followed by a knee to the gut, but the other man only stumbled for a moment before somehow getting enough leverage to kick Sam's legs out from under him, bringing him down in an immediate, ungraceful crash onto the floor that painfully knocked the wind out of him.

"Whooaa, easy tiger," the man purred, his voice dripping with amusement as he straddled Sam's lap, and Sam squinted up into the shadows with a shock of fresh adrenaline churning his stomach, his eyes finally beginning to adjust even though he already knew now with certainty who was on top of him. 

He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Dean?" he cried, his own voice a notch higher than usual, “What-...you scared the crap out of me!"

Dean gave a low, responding chuckle and tightened his thighs a bit. 

"That's because you're out of practice," he shot back, but before the last word had even fully left his tongue, Sam was reaching up to grab his brother's neck and toppling them both until he was the one on top. 

"-or not," Dean finished playfully, laughing again, “Get off of me."

Still reeling with confusion, Sam pulled himself a little unsteadily to his feet with Dean quickly following suit.

He couldn't quite...process the fact that his big brother was here. 

_Actually_ here. 

After all this fucking time…standing in front of Sam as calmly as if they’d seen each other yesterday.

His stomach began to knot painfully, and he took a few stumbling steps back.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" he blurted out, his breath hitching a little around each word and his heart beating too fast and too loud in his chest, but Dean just gave him one of those lazy, drawling, sexy smiles and raised his big hands to Sam's shoulders. 

"Well, I _was_ looking for a beer," he murmured, swaying in slightly toward Sam with a penetrating stare that made Sam feel sixteen and lovesick all over again in a single instant.

Before he could respond, though, there was a soft click, and the room was suddenly flooded with light.

Sam jumped a little and spun unsteadily around, his eyes landing on Jess where she was hovering in the doorway glancing back and forth between him and Dean in obvious confusion. 

"Sam?" she questioned sleepily, and Sam felt suddenly wildly uncomfortable…like the three of them shouldn't be in the same room together, his forehead shining with a thin layer of clammy sweat and his throat tightening sharply even though Jess didn’t know… 

She didn’t know.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Jess, ah...hey," he stammered, switching gears half-way through and turning to address his brother instead, “-Dean, this is my…girlfriend, Jessica."

The word ‘girlfriend’ stuck to the roof of his mouth and made him feel guilty even though he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong.

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Jessica pressed, and Sam's mouth went dry. 

She _didn't_ know anything.

Of course she didn't, but he suddenly couldn't remember how to speak.

Dean shot him a little warning glare before moving in smoothly to diffuse the tense moment.

"I love the smurfs," he offered with a charming smile, gesturing toward Jessica's t-shirt, “And hey, I've gotta tell you. You are _way_ out of my brother's league." 

He had moved right into Jess's personal space, handling awkwardness with flirtatiousness in the patented Dean Winchester way, but watching it still made Sam’s head hurt and heated the blood in both of his temples while he fought the urge to step in and physically separate the two of them.

_"Get a fucking grip, man_," he chided himself, "_Pull_ _it together. This is only gonna be weird if you make it weird."_

Jessica was watching Dean a little nervously like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him or what to make of any of this for that matter.

"Just...let me put something on," she mumbled, even though Sam could see the little flush that had spread across her cheeks despite herself in response to Dean’s compliment.

"No, no! I wouldn't _dream_ of it," Dean purred with a wink that felt like a punch to Sam’s lower abdomen, “Seriously. Anyway, I've gotta borrow your boyfriend, here, to talk about some private family business, but, ah, it was nice meeting you."

Jess pursed her lips together as Dean headed back over toward Sam, and Sam's chest contracted at his brother's words.

Private family business.

That wasn't good.

It had disaster written all over it, and there was no way that he was going to allow himself to be dragged into another one of the Winchester family dramas after he’d spent four years free from all that.

"No," he said sharply, walking across the room to stand near Jessica, “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of her."

He knew that Dean wouldn't.

But with a small, non-committal shrug, Dean just crossed his arms loosely and caught Sam's gaze, raising his eyebrows ever-so-slightly as if to say ‘fine, we can play it like that…’

"Okay," he started, the casual humor from a moment ago fading quickly from his voice, “Um. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam didn't falter.

"Okay, so he's working overtime on a miller-time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean exhaled in frustration. 

"Dad's on a _hunting_ trip," he said, annunciating the word ‘hunting’ and letting it slip very slowly off his tongue, “and he hasn't been _home_ in a few days."

Fuck.

Sam sighed, shifting his weight nervously.

"Jess…excuse us," he murmured apologetically, glancing at her for only a moment before grabbing Dean by the shoulder and herding him into the hallway. 

•••••

"What are you doing?" he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot, “What is this, Dean? You can't just...you can't just...four years, Dean. I thought that-"

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean interrupted, holding up one hand, “Just...look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to come here like this, okay? But I need your help, man. I didn't know what else to do."

He suddenly looked genuinely worried, and Sam realized with a dull pang that his brother's calm and bravado had all been an act.

Of course it had been…

He should have seen right through it, like he used to, but it had just...it had just been so long.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice much softer now, "I...I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I just...this kinda…caught me off guard. And you can't just break in here in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you. That _is _what you're asking, isn't it?"

Dean stared up at him in the dim light of the stairwell.

"You're not _hearing_ me, Sammy," he said quietly, his voice hitching at the end of the sentence, “Dad's missing. I need...I need you to help me find him."

Sam sighed, biting back the old, familiar urge to say, ‘It's Sam.’

"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst?" he asked instead, “Or the devil's gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing. And he's always fine."

"Not for this long," Dean responded softly, glancing behind him to make sure they were still alone, “Now…are you going to come with me or not?"

Sam took a small step back, breaking eye-contact.

"I'm...I'm not," he almost whispered, and Dean made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

"Why not?" he demanded, crossing his arms resentfully, and Sam almost laughed in exasperation at that since it was just the two of them know and feigning dumb was ridiculous.

"I swore that I was done with…all that," he breathed out, meeting his brother's eyes again, “Don't tell me you don't remember how things were, Dean, especially those last few months. You...I'm not going through that again. I can't."

"Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't _that_ bad," Dean muttered, smoothing a hand through his hair, “Hunting is who we are. It's-"

"Oh, no, _no_," Sam swiftly interrupted, cutting his brother off, “You _know_ that's not what I'm talking about, Dean. Sure, hunting was bad enough, but that's not why I left, and don’t even try to pretend to be clueless about that. I...I don't think that we should-"

He trailed off, no longer sure of what to even say.

"So…what, then?" Dean asked, his voice laced with something that might be anger. Or regret.

“-What are you gonna do? Are you just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?"

Sam grimaced, mentally flashing back to the week before he’d left for Stanford and the heartbreaking confrontation he’d had with Dean one stormy afternoon.

“_I’m not dragging you into this, Sammy. You-you don’t know what you want…we’re already fucked enough, you just-…you deserve as much normal as you can get.”_

"I thought that was what you wanted me to do."

Dean looked visibly wounded by that, pivoting his body so that he was only half-facing Sam.

"I did. I mean...I...I don't know. I didn't want you to run away, Sam."

Sam suddenly wanted to reach for Dean despite everything, flooded with the reminder that this was his _brother_…his brother who he’d dreamed of touching again for years now…

Here, here with him…right here.

“-I can't do this alone, Sammy.”

Sam bit his lip.

“Yes, you can," he whispered.

Dean turned back to face him, all rough hope and sadness and something darker.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to.”

Sam already knew that he was going to go with Dean.

Of course he was.

Thinking about it after that realization, it was almost comical that he had deluded himself, however briefly, into thinking that he might not.

Heaving a mock sigh and mentally planning out the excuse he would give to Jessica, he lifted his hand gently to Dean's shoulder.

"Alright. What was he hunting?"

•••••

“So, Jess seems…pretty," Dean suddenly offered, peering over at Sam from the driver's seat through dark sunglasses, “I guess you've done…okay…for yourself, little brother."

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing briefly back at Dean and deciding to just ignore the blatant backhanded compliment.

"Yeah," he responded with a forced smile, “She is. We're happy together, Dean."

"Mmm," Dean murmured vaguely, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Well, good. I'm glad you found someone you can really be yourself with."

The poorly-concealed resentment in his voice wasn't lost on Sam, and he sighed, staring down at his lap.

"Come on, man," he finally murmured very quietly, “Are you going to do this all weekend? Because I don't want to be here with you if you are. Jess is my girlfriend, and I'm not going to listen to you insult her for three straight days, alright?”

Dean just chuckled, much to Sam's annoyance and tugged his sunglasses down a little to roll his eyes at Sam over the silver rim.

"Jeez, Sammy. You've gotten sensitive in your old age."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes, swiping out with the backs of his fingers to lightly slap at his brother’s shoulder.

"Alright, alright," he huffed, throwing his hands up, “Let's just drop it, okay? You said you were looking for a rest stop, right? Take this next exit."

"Mmhm, I got it," Dean replied, pulling over into the next lane, “

“I'm starving."

•••••

"Hey, you want breakfast?" Dean called, strolling around the back of the car with a bag of chips and a soda in his hands and a tube of mints clutched between his teeth.

"No, thanks," Sam replied doubtfully, eying the junk food and casting Dean a disparaging look, “So, how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean quipped, reaching over to shove the gas pump clumsily back in its holder, “Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what name did you write on the application this time?" Sam shot back, swinging his legs back into the car as Dean tugged open his door with a low creak.

"Ahh, Bert Aframian and his son, Hector," Dean responded with a cocky, self-satisfied grin, crawling into his seat and throwing his snacks down between them, “Scored two cards out of the deal."

Sam shook his head a little, half-smiling despite himself.

"Sounds about right," he chuckled, glancing over at his brother, “But listen, if we’re gonna be traveling together even just for a few days..I swear, man, you have _got_ to update your cassette tape collection."

Dean stared at the box of cassette tapes in Sam's lap, shrugging.

"Why?" he asked, looking genuinely oblivious.

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes," Sam pointed out, rifling through the box and grabbing a couple loosely between his fingers, “And two…Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean snatched one of the tapes from Sam's hand, raising an eyebrow playfully. 

"House rules, Sammy," he murmured, popping it into the player, “Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Sam sighed, palming his forehead.

"Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," he groaned, knowing even as he said it that it was still going to be a mute point, “It's _Sam_, okay?"

The tape started to play, and Dean just cranked the volume, gesturing toward his ear.

"Sorry, I can't hear you. The music's too loud," he called, tossing Sam one of those mind-melting looks of his that had always made Sam's blood feel too thick in his veins.

He felt his stomach flutter alarmingly, matching the rev of the engine as the impala peeled out of the parking lot and toward the open road.

•••••

"Dude, tell me we're almost there," Sam groaned, moping in Dean's direction as Metallica blared from the speakers, “I can't take much more of this."

Dean grinned, hammering the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

"Oh, come on. You love it," he retorted loudly over the music, craning his neck to read a mileage sign beside the road, “We're only an hour out. You can make it."

Sam let himself fall back against his seat with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and ironing his lips together into a frown.

"You say that, but I'm not so sure," he mumbled grumpily, trying his best to stretch his legs out in the cramped passenger seat.

He side-glanced his brother to see Dean watching him with a little smirk.

"What?" Sam snapped, and Dean continued to stare for a moment, finally reaching over to press his thumb against Sam's lips for a split second, rubbing a tiny circle there and sending Sam’s pulse into overdrive before casually grabbing the wheel again as if he hadn't just done something alarming.

"You've always looked so pretty when you pout, Sammy," he purred in a voice that sounded like thick honey, and Sam choked on a breath, frowning again even as his cheeks flushed red.

What the hell was Dean playing at?

"Yeah, okay," he managed lamely, trying to look as annoyed as he knew he should feel, “Whatever-whatever you say, Dean. Just…turn it down, okay?"

"Mmhm," Dean hummed, his fingers finding the volume knob and cranking it up a notch, “Anything for you, baby.”

Sam shoved at Dean's shoulder again, his higher brain functioning temporarily shorting out and the skin on his arms feeling too hot and too tight.

Whatever was happening between them, Dean was clearly winning, and Sam made a silent mental vow not to allow himself to react to Dean's little remarks and…looks and…whatever else…from that moment on.

God. It was going to be a long three days.

•••••

‘Female murder hitchhiking’

Dean's face was scrunched up in concentration as he leaned over the computer at the small, dimly-lit library in Jericho.

‘0 results found’

Dean bit his lower lip and thought for a moment before typing again.

‘Female murder Centennial Highway’

‘0 results found’

"I got it," Sam interrupted, reaching impatiently for the keyboard, but Dean just slapped his hand away, narrowing Sam’s eyes in resentment.

He was not going to spend this whole weekend indulging Dean’s ego. He wasn't an eighteen-year-old kid anymore, and while he might be a bit out of practice when it came to hunting, in the world of research, he ruled over Dean.

Taking advantage of his size and strength, Sam swiftly shoved Dean's chair out of the way and scooted haughtily in front of the screen.

"Dude," Dean protested with a sideways glare, shoving Sam's massive shoulder to no avail, “You're such a control freak."

Sam squinted at the glowing screen, deciding not to dignify that statement with a response.

"So, angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?" he wondered out loud instead as Dean crowded in close behind him, staring at the computer.

"So, maybe it's not murder," Sam continued still half to himself, erasing the word ‘murder’ from the search and typing in ‘suicide’ instead.

An article instantly popped up titled, "Suicide on Centennial," and Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"This was in 1981," Sam read, skimming the words on the page, “Constance Welch, twenty four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river."

Dean peered at the small type.

"Does it say why she did it?"

"Yeah," Sam responded, his voice quiet, “An hour before she did it, she called 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die. 'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bare it,' said husband, Joseph Welch-”

He paused for a moment to glance over his shoulder at Dean before continuing.

"That bridge look familiar to you?"

It was where they had impersonated Federal Marshals earlier in the day to squeeze information from the local police.

Dean pressed his lips together and exchanged a meaningful glance with Sam that clearly meant, ‘Next stop: Sylvania Bridge,’ and Sam nodded, rising from his chair.

•••••

The road was deserted as they drove back toward Sylvania Bridge, and neither brother had uttered a word to each other since they’d climbed into the car.

"Hey," Dean finally said, breaking the long silence between them, "So, I guess you learned something useful in college, after all, huh? You gonna be the brain to my brawn, now?"

Sam smiled half-heartedly.

He had been deep in thought before Dean had broken him out of his reverie.

"I was always the brain to your brawn," he said, looking over at Dean to analyze his expression.

There wasn't much left of the flirtatious playfulness that had been there during their morning drive, and Sam couldn't figure out if he felt disappointed or relieved about that.

On the one hand, it had been uncomfortable and a little confusing, but on the other hand, it had been nice to see a more carefree, relaxed version of Dean than he had gotten used to seeing before the months leading up to his Stanford departure.

He found himself wondering how much of earlier's playfulness had been an act.

As if on cue, Dean sighed and reached over to rest his hand gently on Sam's shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier, man," he said with that old, familiar echo of sadness behind his voice. "I guess I just…I don't know…seeing you again, it's-it's…it's just…it's nice to see you again. That's what I'm trying to say."

The tension in the air was palpable.

Sam knew that even though his brother felt obligated to say what he had said, he hated moments like this.

Resting a hand lightly on top of Dean's, Sam gave a little squeeze and smiled into the darkness.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, suddenly wishing that they weren't as close to their destination, "but hey, no chick-flick moments, right?"

Dean chuckled, slipping his hand out from under Sam's and gripping the wheel again.

"I guess you learned something useful from me after all, too, huh?" he said, and Sam smiled again as they turned onto the road that would take them the last half mile to Sylvania Bridge.


	2. Woman in White (pt. 2 of 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very quick ‘epilogue’ so to speak of chapter one.
> 
> Dean comforts Sam immediately following Jess’s murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s P.O.V

Dean stared helplessly across the small motel room, watching his little brother’s shoulders rising and falling unevenly under the thin sheet and feeling a complicated mix of anger, sadness, and relief.

That last emotion came with a nauseating swell of bitter guilt that he could almost taste on the back of his tongue, and he hated himself for it.

But he couldn’t seem to control it…that flood of tingling warmth in his stomach at the thought of having Sammy again, at the thought of being with him, for more than just a fleeting weekend…actually having him again…not having to say goodbye.

He wanted to punch himself in the face for being so selfish at a time like this, even if it _was_ only inside the privacy of his own mind.

Sam had just lost…Sam had just…

Fuck…

He shook his head a little in the darkness.

This wasn’t about him and his fucked up-, well…his fucked up everything.

This was about Sammy.

Without considering the possible consequences, Dean suddenly tugged his own sheet impulsively to one side, heavily pulling himself to his feet and crossing the room in a few strides to lower his body down behind Sam’s on the other twin bed with a deep, unsteady sigh.

“Hey, I’m here,” he whispered, his voice shaking audibly despite his best efforts, “I’ve gotcha, Sammy, I’m-, I’m right here.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but let the words fade into a quiet exhale, wrapping the full stretch of his arms around his brother’s shoulders and easing their bodies flush together in a tight, protective embrace.

“We’re gonna find it,” he finally added in barely a whisper, massaging softly into Sam’s upper arm with his fingertips.

“I swear to you, Sammy…I-, we’re…we’re gonna find it. And we’re gonna end it.”


	3. Wendigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam struggles with the guilt he carries concerning his relationship with Jess, the brothers hunt a wendigo, and Dean helps Sam to shift his perspective on the road they have to travel and on what lies ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new notes I can think of. Other than the fact that I’ll probably spot needed edits after posting this!

“_Jess…I should have told you the truth…”_

The words echoed like a gunshot through Sam’s mind as he woke with a start in the passenger seat of the impala, blinking rapidly several times in a row and catching sight of Dean’s not at all subtle side-glance of concern in his peripheral vision.

“You okay?” Dean urged, and Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with a quiet exhale, hoping to relieve some of the relentless pressure from the headache that had been throbbing behind his temples almost constantly for at least a few days now.

“Yeah…I’m fine,” he lied, knowing as soon as he said it that there wasn’t a chance in hell Dean was going to buy it, and…right on cue-

“Another nightmare?”

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, his hands clasping together into an anxious twist over his lap. 

_The same nightmare…over and over and over again._

Dean fixed him with another worried stare that Sam could practically feel like a heat lamp burning into the side of his neck. 

“You…uh, wanna drive for a while?”

_What?_

Sam raised both eyebrows at that, slowly turning to face his brother with a half-amused, half-incredulous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He would have sooner expected Dean to offer up a veggie burger and a night of watching romantic comedies and sharing their feelings than a turn behind the wheel of the impala. 

“In your whole life, you’ve never _once_ asked me that,” he pointed out doubtfully, trying to decide for about the hundredth time if Dean’s uncharacteristic attempts at comforting him were making him feel better or worse and finding himself almost wishing that his brother would just…do what he’d always done in situations like these; avoid other people’s emotions like the plague and offer up some hardened resolve like ‘turn it into anger and use it, Sammy.’ 

It would be familiar…simple.

Uncomplicated.

But Dean just shrugged vaguely in response, shifting his focus back to the road.

“-thought you might want to. Never mind.”

Sam sighed, fidgeting with a loose thread on the pocket of his jeans and struggling to mentally piece together the right combination of words to explain himself to his brother, to not come across as a total jerk here when he knew that Dean genuinely _was_ just trying to help. 

Of course he was…

“Look, I know you’re worried about me,” Sam finally offered after a few moments of continued silence between the two of them, “-I get it. And…and thank you. But I’m perfectly okay.”

Dean chewed his lower lip in obvious disbelief with a noncommittal “hm,” keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead and tapping his knuckles awkwardly against the wheel like he might be gearing up to say something that would just be-

It didn’t matter.

Sam knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind to handle it, whatever it was. 

“So, uh…where are we?”

For now, the only thing he and Dean needed to talk about was finding their turn-off and hopefully, by the end of the day, being at least one step closer to finding Dad, finding answers, finding the thing that killed Jess-

-and moving on.

••••• 

“In ’59, one camper survived the supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Dean frowned a little at the laptop screen, staring at the paused footage they’d just replayed of some creature, faster than anything should be, darting behind Haley’s brother out in Black Water Ridge right before he fell of the grid.

It was definitely shaping up to be a Winchester kind of a gig.

“Yeah, we’ll head over to the camper’s last known address, see what we can see,” Dean suggested, closing the laptop with a click and eying Sam’s untouched salad, “-but you gotta eat something first, Sammy. C’mon. You need it. You’ll feel better if you can actually manage to keep down some protein, or…you know, whatever the hell is in that bowl of rabbit food you got there.”

Sam rolled his eyes, reaching for his beer again instead.

“Vitamins, Dean,” he shot back, taking a long sip from the chilled bottle before adding, “-protein, too. Doesn’t matter though. I’m not hungry. And I’m _fine_. You don’t have to parent me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dean said nothing in response to that for at least five seconds, finally nodding slowly and smiling…a real smile, which was _not_ the reaction Sam had been expecting to say the least.

“No, you’re-, you’re not a kid anymore, Sammy,” he finally agreed in a much softer voice, reaching across the small table to rub Sam’s shoulder and leaving his hand there as he tentatively added, “-and I, uh…I don’t know, man. I just…I missed lookin’ after you, you know? I missed a lot of things. I just, uh, I wish things were different, but I’m happy you’re here. I am. I’m just making up for missed time, that’s all.”

He splayed his fingers out over Sam’s shoulder and eased more of his weight into the touch, pushing his thumb beneath the fabric of Sam’s shirt at the collar to tickle light circles over the skin there and alarmingly flooding Sam’s stomach with little pools of warmth that seemed to travel in swift jolts all the way up to the base of his neck with each rhythmic swipe of his brother’s thumb.

It was enough all on its own to raise his pulse to near cartoonish levels, and he _knew_ that this was simply more comfort from Dean, that he wasn’t-, that it wasn’t…anything more than that, but in one single moment, his entire body had come alive with the kind of electric want he’d never even come close to feeling for Jess…as much as he’d wanted to...

-as much as he’d tried to pretend he’d felt it…even to himself...

It was-, it was as if he’d-

_‘I should have told you the truth…_’

“I wasn’t in love with her,” he heard himself suddenly blurt in a breathless rush, the words coming out all mashed together and sucking the air from his lungs like a vacuum as Dean’s fingers twitched erratically in response against his collarbone.

Shit. Shit. 

“-I-I, I didn’t mean to say it like-, it was just-”

“-hey, Sammy, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t have to-, it’s okay.”

Dean’s expression had melted into something unreadable, something new and complex as he slowly slid his hand outward to ease his fingertips down the full length of Sam’s arm before finally disconnecting entirely, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like he couldn’t figure out what to say next as Sam lowered his eyes uncomfortably to his own lap.

“I did love her,” he forced himself to explain in barely more than a whisper, desperately struggling to even out his breaths and shivering slightly even in the warm, sticky air of the cramped bar, “-I just didn’t-, I wasn’t…_in_ love with her. And it was selfish-I…I was selfish. If I’d left her, like I should have done a long time ago, she’d still be alive. She’d be…she just…she didn’t deserve this, Dean. She deserved so much better than this.”

He was horrified by the burning dampness swelling behind his eyelids, and he angrily wiped at his face, bending his body even further at the waist and unable to bring himself to look up at Dean, afraid of what else he might see written into his brother’s expression...

Dean took a long time on an exhale before using his legs to slide his chair closer to Sam, his knees brushing up against Sam’s own and his hands curling into loose fists on the table as Sam watched anxiously in his periphery.

“Listen, man,” Dean started, breaking off again almost immediately and swallowing heavily a few times in a row before continuing, “-You couldn’t’a known. Okay? This is not on you. This is not…this is _not_ on you. You gotta-, just…we’re gonna make it right, you hear me? You and me. We’re gonna make this right.”

•••••

Dean trailed a hand across the old leather of the journal, glancing over his shoulder to where Haley and Ben were huddled by the small fire before turning back to Sam.

“I think Dad wants us to pick up where he left off…you know, saving people, hunting things…the family business.”

Sam’s jaw tightened at that, his lips closing into a hard line as he shook his head, locking eyes with Dean in the dim, flickering light.

“Dean…no,” he whispered, pressing a shaky palm to his forehead, “I…I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica’s killer. You-, I told you why I-…I have to. It’s the only thing-”

“-Sam, we’ll find them. I promise.”

Dean lowered his voice by a few notches, spreading his fingers out over Sam’s thigh and clearing his throat as he paused to switch tracks.

“-but listen…this-, you can’t keep all this burning over the long haul, alright? It’s gonna kill you. You gotta…you gotta have patience, man.”

He tilted his head toward Haley and Ben.

“I mean...hear me out. I figure we’re so screwed to hell…but maybe-, maybe we can help some others along the way...you know?”

He held his breath, lifting his other hand to Sam’s face and brushing away a sweat-slick strand of hair, his gaze intensifying in a way that plucked wildly at Sam’s heart where it was suddenly beating like a damn snare drum all the way at the top of his throat.

“-and I’ll tell you what else-”

_“-help me!”_

Both brothers spun around in surprise to peer into the darkness as Roy leapt to his feet, his fingers reaching instinctively for his gun.

Fuck.

It was here.

It had found them.

•••••

They watched solemnly as Haley and her brothers were guided gently into the back of the ambulance, pretty beat up themselves with several bruises and lacerations as souvenirs of their time spent with the now burned to a crisp wendigo.

Dean huffed out an exaggerated sigh.

“Man, I hate camping,” he groaned with a frown that didn’t reach his eyes, and Sam just smiled wearily, lifting his gaze to Dean’s and holding it there pointedly, his head buzzing with everything he wanted to say, with everything he’d been thinking about for the past few hours...everything he’d slowly begun to realize.

But-

“-Sam, you know we’re gonna find Dad, right?”

Dean swayed ever-so-slightly inward, his body curving toward Sam’s like a magnet, and it was Sam’s turn now to reach instinctively for his brother, clasping his hand firmly over Dean’s thigh in an echo of how Dean had touched him the night before in the woods and rubbing a wrinkle of worn denim between two of his fingers.

“I know,” he answered quietly, leaning in with his upper body to close the rest of the space between them before he could talk himself out of it and resting his head in the warm crook of Dean’s shoulder the way he used to when they were both kids, “I know, but…in the meantime-”

He gave his brother’s leg a little squeeze, his stomach pricking with an all-too-familiar ache and his cheeks flushing a soft shade of red against the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“-in the meantime...I’m driving.”


	4. Dead in the Water (pt. 1 of 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I split D.I.T.W into three parts simply because there’s a lot going on.
> 
> If I had individually titled each part, part 1 would definitely be called ‘Jealousy.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm...but seriously...remember how blatantly jealous Sam got when Dean was gettin’ flirty with the waitress? :D 
> 
> Like, there’s subtext and then there’s just plain text...
> 
> Also, I wrote this during a two day stretch without sleep, so I’m only about 35% sure that’s it’s not utter lunacy. I’ll reread it after 40 winks, and I guess...I don’t know, let’s hope it’s not!
> 
> Part two is nearly done as well, by the way.

** _ Location: the Gynwood Inn _ **

“Can I get you anything else?”

Looking up from the newspaper he was skimming, Dean grinned at the supermodel-esque blonde waitress who was leaning heavily over the table to bat her long eyelashes at him, much to Sam’s annoyance.

Ugh...

He irrationally wanted to hit her.

Dean chewed suggestively on the end of the pen he’d been using to circle potential cases, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously and opening his mouth to respond-

“-just the check,” Sam interrupted with a sullen little frown, sneaking a glance at Dean to gage his brother’s reaction while the <strike>slut</strike> waitress turned to leave with a disappointed ‘okay,’ her smile faltering as Dean rolled his eyes in Sam’s direction and lightly kicked at his shin.

“You know, Sam, we _are_ allowed to have fun every once in a while,” he pointed out, seeming to pick up on Sam’s poorly-concealed jealousy about halfway through the sentence and blinking slowly a few times in a row before the unmistakable twitch of a tiny smirk began to tug the corner of his mouth into an upward curl.

“-but, ah, anyway…take a look at this,” he continued in what was _definitely_ a self-satisfied tone, snaking the tip of his tongue provocatively over his front teeth and pushing the newspaper across the table while Sam struggled to keep his eyes on the article and away from the hypnotic appeal of his brother’s mouth.

“Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week, Sophie Carlton, 18, walks into the lake…doesn’t walk out. Authorities dragged the water. Nothing.”

Dean paused, tilting his head to read the small blurb at the bottom of the page and-…and gradually extending one of his legs until the full side of his thigh was pressed up flush against Sam’s under the table.

Sam’s throat suddenly felt entirely too dry.

Dean had been going out of his way to be overly physical (even for them) for a solid week now, and while Sam would be lying if he tried to pretend he didn’t relish those moments with his brother, they also left him jittery and tongue-tied and guiltily thinking about Jess and...and feeling uncertain about-, well, about pretty much everything more often than not.

It was all very confusing.

“-Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year,” Dean continued calmly, keeping his leg stretched out against Sam’s and actually adding some pressure instead of easing back, “None of the other bodies were found, either. They had a funeral two days ago, and-…hey, space cowboy-”

He reached out to tap two of his fingers pointedly against Sam’s shoulder.

“-somethin’ you wanna say?”

Sam hastily looked up from where his eyes had apparently drifted down to Dean’s thigh, his muscles tensing in embarrassment and his pulse skipping as he dragged the back of one hand across his eyes with an overly-exaggerated yawn, adding on a mock-stretch and what he hoped sounded like a weary sigh…just for good measure.

“Sorry,” he mumbled breathlessly, clearing his throat and grabbing a bit too violently for the newspaper, “I, uh, just-just…tired, that’s all. This-, yeah, we’ll do the…Sophie Carmen thing. Carson. The Sophie Carson thing.”

He re-read the first line.

“-Carlton. Fuck. Sorry. Yeah, that. That’s what I meant.”

_And to think, for four whole years he’d come to consider himself a pretty smooth guy…_

Dean just crossed his arms loosely over his chest, leaning way back in his chair to survey Sam with a smug expression.

He said nothing for another few seconds that ticked by like an eternity while Sam’s cheeks flushed hot under the scrutiny, his gaze finally lifting completely of its own accord to his brother’s and his fingers tightening painfully on the edge of the table as he stared, transfixed, at the way Dean’s eyelids were weighed down to barely half-open, the visual somehow reminding Sam inherently and overwhelmingly of sex even though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

God…

“You know, it’s fuckin’ adorable when you get jealous, Sammy,” Dean practically purred, cocking his head toward the blonde waitress who just happened to be passing by behind them again and flashing Sam a teasing wink as he twirled his plastic fork delicately between his thumb and forefinger, “-always has been. Not that there’s any _need_ to get jealous, though. I mean, hell-”

He broke off, pausing dramatically like he wanted to really make sure Sam was paying attention.

“-hell…there’s, uh…plenty of ways to have fun…yeah?”

Sam choked loudly on a breath and a swallow trying to happen at the same time, his chest tingling and his nails digging into the top of the table as Dean chuckled appreciably, reaching for his coffee to take a long sip while Sam just…floundered silently, struggling to process what he was fairly certain Dean had just insinuated and wondering for a few seconds if he might actually have a heart attack.

Part of him was still just relieved that Dean wasn’t tiptoeing around his feelings on glass and eggshells anymore, but-

-but…_fuck_…

He’d almost forgotten how easily his brother could push his buttons and how…how…jesus…how infuriating and addicting and…just-…_hot_ it was.

Even saying it inside his own head made him blush all over again.

He pretended to re-read the article in front of him, peering down at the tiny black words and struggling to muscle his own body back under his control, his lower abdomen coiling tightly with bunching pressure that he furiously tried to talk himself down from, hastily conjuring up mental images of rotting corpses and Bobby in a speedo while he clumsily fumbled with his coat where it was slung haphazardly over the back of his chair.

He had to get out of here.

They-, they had to get out of here.

“Ready?” he finally managed, choosing to simply not respond to Dean’s-, to…all…_that_ but still dropping his coat twice in a row before actually succeeding in getting both of his arms fully through the sleeves, “-we, uh...gotta get…”

He signaled awkwardly toward the door.

The best thing they could do right now…the _only_ thing they could do right now, was to just…get back on the road.

Immediately.

Preferably while a speedo-clad Bobby was still vividly enough at the forefront of Sam’s mind.

And if there _did_ turn out to be some supernatural nightmare lurking in the depths of Lake Manitoc, well...good.

That should give them plenty to focus on, keep them busy, keep them...distracted.

For a little while at least.


	5. Dead in the Water (pt. 2 of 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean strikes out with Andrea, shows a softer side with Lucas, and cracks opens a Pandora’s box so to speak with Sam...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this hefty chapter has now become three parts, not two. I’m so sorry.
> 
> Also, I love when Sam tells Andrea that Dean flirting with her isn’t even about her, because...that actually happens (if a bit subtextually). But then again, we all know that Monseur Kripke is the captain of the Wincest ship, so it’s not all that surprising.
> 
> Keep in mind that I wrote Andrea as about 65% bitchier than she actually was for some reason. I figured I should acknowledge that.
> 
> No explicit-y warnings yet, but they’re right around the corner. 
> 
> Sam has not just blissfully (unrealistically) forgotten about Jess or finding Dad.
> 
> That is all.

“Kids are the best, huh?”

Dean flashed his most charismatic smile at Andrea as she looked over her shoulder at him, surprisingly fixing him with a disparaging grimace in response and actually shaking her head a little before coming to a stop and gesturing abruptly up ahead.

“There it is,” she said without even trying to mask the disdain in her voice, pointing out the hotel she’d been walking them to from the Sheriff’s office at Dean’s request before planting both hands on her hips and tapping her foot impatiently against the asphalt, “Two blocks, _just_ like I said.”

She paused, vaguely regarding Sam for a moment like she might be trying to decide if he was the same breed of jerk as his ‘partner’ (they were pretending to be Wildlife Service for this gig) before sighing loudly and shifting her focus back to Dean.

“-must be hard, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “-with your sense of direction. Never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line.”

At that, she continued on across the street without missing a beat, and Sam raised an eyebrow sky-high, ironing one hand over his mouth to hold back a chuckle at his brother’s failed attempt to get another rise out of him (Dean had been flirting relentlessly with Andrea ever since they’d first arrived).

Dean gaped in silent disbelief like he actually couldn’t process the fact that Andrea hadn’t just been playing hard to get, his forehead furrowing and his shoulders hunching sullenly as he shoved his fingers roughly into the front-pockets of his too-tight jeans with a mutter of “wha-, _fine_ then...”

If Sam was being honest with himself, though…Dean’s plan would have worked all too well on him if Andrea had reacted the way everyone _else_ on planet earth reacted when Dean Winchester started to flirt with them, and-

Come to think of it…

He found himself waving cheerfully as Andrea glanced back at them, ignoring Dean’s hiss of ‘_really, Sammy?’_ and feeling a rush of deep admiration for this enigma of a woman who had actually succeeded in knocking Dean down a couple of notches.

Served him right.

And, really…’kids are the best??’

“Kids are the best?” he echoed aloud as soon as Andrea was out of sight, admittedly wanting to rub the whole thing in as thoroughly as he could to pay Dean back at least in part for his…’antics’ over breakfast, “Dude…you don’t even _like _kids!”

Dean huffed, turning to face the sidewalk and moodily scuffing the pavement with the toe of his boot while Sam grinned gleefully, immensely enjoying every millisecond of his brother’s much-deserved comeuppance and mentally making a note to send Andrea a gift basket as soon as he got the chance.

“I love kids!” Dean shot back defensively, and Sam actually laughed outright at that, patting Dean’s shoulder in a ‘yeah right’ kind of a way that had Dean swatting at his fingers and swearing ominously under his breath.

Sam crossed his arms smugly.

“Okay…then name three children that you even _know_.”

Dean cocked his head awkwardly with a mumbled “uhh,” and Sam knew he had his brother backed into a corner on that one. 

Hah. Checkmate.

_“_Whatever, smartass,” Dean snapped, “-I’m thinking!”

“Think away!” Sam laughed, moving to sidestep Dean and trotting ahead on light feet to cross the small road, still grinning as he made a beeline for their hotel.

••••••

“Can we join you?”

Sam gestured to the bench, shifting his body slightly to block his brother from view (he’d managed to convince Dean to let him do the talking on this one) and briefly scanning the playground full of children for Lucas as Andrea looked up at him doubtfully and folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m here with my son,” she said, lowering her eyes again to the book she had open in her lap.

Dean cleared his throat pointedly, leaning his upper body around Sam’s torso and nodding toward the patch of grass where he’d spotted Lucas sitting cross-legged by himself, his shoulders hunched over the drawing he was working on and his features hardened with a weighted kind of exhaustion that looked noticeably out of place on the face of a young child.

“Mind if I say hi?” Dean asked, but it was more of a statement than a question, and he didn’t wait for Andrea’s permission (or lack there of) before heading over to the grass while Sam slowly lowered himself down onto the bench with an apologetic smile, folding his hands over his lap and staring awkwardly at a square of dirt by his boot.

“-Hey, tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is _not_ gonna work on me.” 

Sam looked up at Andrea in surprise, having momentarily forgotten that of course she would still be under the impression that Dean’s earlier ‘efforts’ had actually been to try to pick her up and not just a poorly-executed attempt to ruffle Sam’s feathers.

He chuckled out loud just remembering it, realizing after a couple of seconds that Andrea might misinterpret his amusement and hastily adding, “Oh, I…I don’t think that’s…what’s happening, here.”

••••••

** _(Dean’s P.O.V)_ **

Dean held out his drawing to Lucas, crouching down to eye level and pointing to the stick figures he’d inexpertly scribbled onto the green sheet of construction paper.

“That’s my geek brother and me,” he offered, following it with a genuine laugh at the clearly unimpressed look on Lucas’s face.

“-alright, so I’m a sucky artist. You got me. But, uh, here. You can keep it.”

He gently slid the paper sideways, nodding at Lucas and starting to pull himself to his feet.

Lucas reached out to him wordlessly, a detailed sketch of a small house on the piece of paper he had clutched between his fingers that Dean accepted gratefully with a soft smile.

“Thanks, Lucas. Thanks. I…I really appreciate it.”

••••••

Sam slung himself down onto the bed closest to the door as soon as they were back in their room, stretching out luxuriously on top of the mattress and watching Dean move around bags in the far corner.

“You did good with Lucas,” he admitted, reaching behind his back to tug his pillow further up against the bed frame, “-he liked you. Andrea told me that’s the most he’s really interacted with anyone besides her since the accident.” 

Dean briefly turned around, nodding his recognition of that compliment as he bent to fumble for something in the beaten-up duffel beside him.

Just as Sam was about to add something about not being _too_ terrible with kids after all, Dean suddenly pivoted on his heels to fling a balled-up shirt at Sam with the force of a damn flannel bullet, standing from his crouch to cross the room with a chuckle as Sam tried unsuccessfully to shield himself with a high-pitched sound of surprise, yanking at the shirt where it had landed half-over his head and trying to fling it back at his brother but missing by at least a foot as Dean easily stepped out of the way. 

“_Dude_…what the hell?? I was trying to be nice!”

Dean rolled his eyes, signaling for Sam to scoot over on the bed but not waiting for him to actually do it before flopping down beside him.

“Yeah, that was for earlier, jackass,” Dean said with a grin, lifting his hips to free his left arm from under his back and immediately grabbing for a handful of Sam’s hair to roughly muss it while Sam only mildly tried to wriggle out of his brother’s grasp.

Actually…he _loved_ when Dean mussed his hair, but he was taking that secret with him to the damn grave.

He’d never hear the end of it if Dean even suspected that he didn’t hate every second of it.

“Hey,” he shot back instead, jabbing out at Dean’s hip with his knee and earning himself a dig of his brother’s knuckles against his scalp, “-get off ‘a me, and anyway, I was just enjoying the mess _you_ made for yourself. Wasn’t my fault you couldn’t close the deal. Maybe you’re just…oh, I don’t know, losing your touch? Happens with old age.”

Hah.

It was nice, this back and forth banter between them. 

Sam had missed it.

But just as he was nearly done piecing together his next pretend insult, Dean shifted his weight to his side, his face no more than an inch away from Sam’s own in the new position and his tongue gliding suggestively across the full length of his bottom lip as Sam just stared helplessly, quite literally unable to bring himself to look away...

”De-, uh...you-_aggh_-”

Dean had suddenly yanked with the hand he still had tightly fisted through Sam’s hair, forcing Sam’s head back on the pillow and holding him there as Sam’s eyelids fluttered erratically in response, a shock of surprised arousal piercing his stomach and his toes trying to curl instinctively inside his boots while Dean yanked again and...unbelievably...a third time after that, grabbing Sam’s hip with his free hand for the fourth and final yank and splaying out his fingers there with a heart-stopping little dig of his nails just below the top of Sam’s jeans.

Sam didn’t have the slightest idea what the hell was happening or why, but he’d stopped even attempting to breathe normally by the second yank, and by the fourth, he was actually panting.

Just from _that_...just from-jesus...

“Still think I’m losing my touch?” Dean asked calmly in the same tone of voice he’d use to talk about the fucking weather like he hadn’t just crossed a huge, _huge_ line that Sam had always just...assumed they wouldn’t ever cross.

Sam managed something that was halfway between a word and a groan, hearing it leave his lips and knowing instantly that it was as good as a ‘no’ in response while Dean just continued to watch him intensely, his eyes dark with more pupil than iris and his expression curled into something lean and hungry and primal that was probably what was turning Sam on more than anything else, he realized.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean finally murmured, seeming to actually realize the magnitude of what was happening for the first time as soon as he said it and very suddenly letting go of Sam with both hands almost like he’d been burned, his neck cracking as he sat up too quickly and a flush of red spreading in a swift diagonal across his cheeks to mirror Sam’s own.

He shakily dragged a hand through his own hair, smoothing it and turning his body to face the opposite end of the room.

“You-you…you were gonna cruise by the library, weren’t you? See if you can hunt down those records?”

Huh?

Records? Rec...records...

Sam felt himself nod very slowly with a breathless “mm, mhm,” not yet trusting his own voice to get him any further than that.

So...the plan was to pretend like all _that_ hadn’t just happened?

“Huh. Uh, okay...let’s-that’s not, we gotta not...” Dean stammered on cue, finally giving up on the failed sentence and breathlessly switching tracks to “-go, uh, go get your geek on, college boy. Research time.”

He paused, glancing sideways at Sam in his periphery for just the smallest fraction of a moment before slinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand up with a stiff stretch and a exhale that sounded to Sam like it had been forced out through tightly clenched teeth.

“-and, uh, pick up some beer while you’re out, would you? We...just, we definitely need some beer.”


	6. Dead in the Water (pt. 3 of 3)

“I think it’s safe to say we can rule out Nessie.”

Sam had returned to the hotel no more than half an hour after he’d left for the library, forcing himself to put what had happened with Dean temporarily on the back-burner so that they could refocus on the growing problem of the still-unknown Lake Manitoc monster that was adding to its body count at an alarming rate.

Because there definitely _was_ a monster.

It definitely was killing people.

And it no longer seemed to be confined to just the lake, either.

Sam was now 100% certain of these three things after having stopped by the Carlton’s in concern when he’d noticed two ambulances in front of their house on his way downtown.

Whatever was out there, he and Dean needed to be able to work together, as Winchesters, to stop it…because it had just drowned Will Carlton in his own kitchen sink.

•••••• 

** _ (Dean’s P.O.V) _ **

“You’re scared.”

Dean said it very quietly, his eyes fixed on Lucas as he crouched a few feet away to dig the crayoned sketch he’d brought with him from his jacket pocket, slowly unfolding it and placing it down onto the rug. 

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Lucas didn’t acknowledge him, methodically coloring something else onto a new piece of paper that Dean saw was a red bicycle when he leaned in closer to look.

These drawings…they were connected somehow to what was going on.

_Lucas_ was connected to what was going on.

Dean knew it.

He just had to find a way to get Lucas to hear him, to trust him, to give him something to go on so that he and Sam could solve this for good before it was Andrea in the back of the next ambulance.

Or even Lucas himself.

“-see…I get scared, too. All the time. I really do. I-”

He paused mid-word, briefly glancing over his shoulder to where Sam and Andrea were standing side by side in the open doorway and deciding to just…be honest with the kid.

He didn’t have to _pretend_ to relate.

“I’ve…I’ve seen some pretty messed up things,” he continued, clearing his throat and shifting from his crouch into a cross-legged sit on the floor, “-I’ve _done_ some pretty messed up things too, truthfully…and, uh, and when I was your age…something real bad happened to my mom, and I didn’t wanna talk about it, either.”

Lucas’s hand stilled noticeably over the paper while he listened, his eyes darting up to Dean’s face for a fleeting moment before he quickly looked away again.

Dean risked heeling himself a little closer.

“I’m scared right now,” he admitted, lowering his voice and clasping his hands together between his knees, “-scared of something I don’t even really understand, and I wish I could ask my mom what to do, just like I know you wish you could ask your dad. But-” 

He broke off for a second, his chest tightening around a strained swallow.

“-but you and me, we have to be brave, okay? We have to try to face those things we’re afraid of, because we got people we love counting on us, and those same people will be there to help us when it’s too hard…when it’s too hard to figure it all out, when it’s too hard to face it. Your mom…my br-, my…uh…partner over there.”

He had gestured toward Sam at the start of the word ‘brother,’ and the last thing he needed right now was Andrea wondering what else he and Sam might be lying about just in case she could hear what he was saying from across the room.

“-what, uh, what I’m getting at here is…could you maybe tell me how you knew to draw that house, Lucas? Do you-, did you know that something bad was gonna happen? Or even…could you draw me another picture? I need you to be brave, okay? You _can_. I know you can.”

He smiled, reaching out to gently cup Lucas’s hand with both of his own.

“-and if you can be brave…well, then I’ll know that I can too.”

••••••

** _ (back to Sam’s P.O.V) _ **

Sam studied Lucas’s new drawing in the passenger’s seat of the impala, holding it up against the fading light to get a better look while Dean drove slowly and a bit aimlessly down the road leading them away from Andrea’s house toward town.

Truthfully, neither of them could quite figure out where they were supposed to go next, because the problem was that-

“There’s about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean sighed with a worried little frown like he’d read Sam’s mind, easing to a full stop as they approached an intersection and checking the rear-view for any cars behind them while Sam squinted yet again at the paper, suddenly spotting a detail he’d missed up until then in the background and pointing it out to Dean with an excited jab of his finger.

“I bet there’s less than a thousand of _these_ around here,” he said a little smugly as he tilted the paper so Dean could see, using his nail to trace the outline of a white church steeple that extended upward behind the house.

Dean nodded, clearly impressed, lifting his eyes to Sam’s for a moment like he wanted to say something else before simply nodding a second time and turning back to face the road with a chuckle.

“College boy, thinks he’s so smaht.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a lighthearted mutter of “yeah, yeah,” pointing left toward the road he now knew they needed to take and simultaneously getting a mild tingle of dejavu in his stomach as Dean toed down on the accelerator.

Ohh, right…

‘_Go get your geek on, college boy.’_

It was what Dean had called him a couple of hours ago after initiating what Sam could only call light foreplay…for lack of any other way to describe it.

He blushed down at his own lap even just thinking the words ‘foreplay’ and ‘Dean’ in such close proximity to each other, alarm bells going off all over his brain as he rapidly started losing grip on his determination to _not_ visualize every second of what had happened with his brother on repeat like the best, most nerve-wracking broken record imaginable.

Cut it out. Focus. Come-on-come-on.

_Focus on the hunt. Focus on the hunt. Focus on the hunt._

Although…

There _was_ one thing he was dying to know, and he mulled it over thoroughly for a minute, biting down on the corner of his lip.

Whatever it had been about, Dean could always just lie if he needed to.

But…shit.

He exhaled slowly, giving his head a little shake like that might actually help him clear all this from his mind.

There’d be time for questions later.

For now…

They had a job to do, and everything else would just have to wait.


End file.
